


Secundus Transient

by Tribs



Series: No Longer in Progress Series Parts [4]
Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Background Plot, Canon Divergence, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, One (1) Disorienting Magic Elevator, Smoking, Somewhat Drunk Consent, Swearing, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 14:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18919366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tribs/pseuds/Tribs
Summary: Pict is approached by a pair of employers who want him to secure something for them. He finds a good hat and pretends to be in college.





	1. Pict

Year 137 5E (29 years old)

* * *

 

The bar was quiet, a liminal lull between the dinner crowd and the nighttime revelers. The second group usually got me swept up to a bed - or at least onto a table - and a tab to piggyback off of, and I was fine with sucking back cheap beers until then. 

At least, for as long as pocket change permitted.

Another bottle down, and I had to scrape the bottom of the bag.

When I finally heard the door open and two sets of boots march in, I didn’t waste any time unfastening the button on my pants and propping my foot up on the stool -  _ flexible, open for business _ \- before waiting for them to approach the counter.

Which, they did. But not for drinks.

A strong, heavy hand clamped across my arm, twisting it back and slamming me down against the wood. The second pinned my neck, and my hips kicked up obediently; he pushed them back down. 

_ Fuck. _

I writhed, head pinned sideways, hair unhelpfully scattering across my eyes. What I could see despite it wasn’t exactly a benefit:

A scarfed man stood a few paces away, almost out of view. Balding, thin black sideburns, sickly. He sighed, and muttered a weary  “Don’t make a scene, Lysimachus,” under his breath.

The armored one - identical, but healthier, scarred - in more immediate pinning-proximity, grumbled an acknowledgement. He jostled his hold on my neck, like he didn’t already have my entire attention.  “Name.”

I struggled to remember it, fending off the conflicting instincts careening between my skull and nether regions. 

“Pict?”

“And you steal things?”

_ Shit. _  “No?”

The scarfed man pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes and sighed.  “You don’t just  _ ask up front _ about that sort of thing. You won’t ever get a proper answer.”

“Do  _ you  _ want to do this, Agathocles?”

“No.”

“This is  _ your  _ ridiculous pet project.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“Hmph.”  He shifted, then tried again.  “It’s to hire you. We’ve got no interest in guards.”

I nodded blithely. Or, tried to. He felt the intent. 

“Good.”

His fingers loosened and I gasped, biting back a needier sound, leveling a glare their way as I sat up and rubbed some feeling back.

The one in the scarf took over.  “I’m sure you have a standard price.”

“You’re fucking right I-”

“We’ve one already prepared. Sizeable. Well worth your while.”

A purse bulging with coins flashed in front of my face, before he tucked it away again. I watched it like a drowning man would a cantine. 

_ Drinks. _

_ Lot of drinks. _

_ Maybe a room. _

_ Could invite up, instead of the other way around.  _

_ Maybe one of them. _

_ Both broad. Tall. Could break me. _

_ Maybe both. _

“What’s the catch?”


	2. Pict

_ Hells. _

I teetered at the cusp of a long marble bridge, staring at the tower on the other end. It was tall, jutting up towards the clouds, and wasn’t anywhere I had any damn business being. 

_ Dumbass. _

_ Who takes this fucking job? Going to get fucking arrested. _

I sighed through my nose, finished guzzling down the nicked flask of bourbon, and started walking.

 

* * *

 

_ Attic’s where they keep shit from retired researchers.  _

_ Just need some box marked ‘Nurn’. Some bullshit in there they want.  _

I wasn’t going to make the climb directly, but I also wasn’t going to risk the main entrance just yet. There were enough chipped footholds to make the going brisk, and each window had a ledge where I could perch and peek inside. 

_ Lot of books. _

_ Floating displays. _

_ Classroom. Classroom. Classroom…  _

_ Laundry room. _

_ Here we are. _

I pushed the window open and stepped inside, greeted by the animated washbasins chugging along to my left. String lines ticked to my right, clothes swaying as they toured the drying carousels, waiting to be collected. 

I dipped into the rows of blue fabric and crept through, running my fingers along in search of something I could work with.

_ Too tall. _

_ Tall. _

_ You’re all fucking giants. _

_ Too. Short? Fucking- Gnome. _

_ Too tall, again.  _

_ … Maybe that one. _

I grabbed the robe and tugged until the clip snapped open, releasing the goods. Undressing was quick business, and after stuffing my kit into my bag, I pulled on the replacements.

They were snug. Probably the best fitting thing I’d worn in years. 

The line had cycled around to my other side by the time I finished, and I snatched the matching hat down. 

_ Name tag stitched on inside. _

It sat firmly, and I took a minute to admire the look in the warped reflection of a washboard.

_ Hope this ‘Corvusa’ fucker doesn’t miss it, because I’m not giving it back. _

 

* * *

 

 

I left the laundry room, and was promptly swept up in a stream of adult students, too enthralled in conversation to notice they’d caught a straggler. 

“So, did you hear about the  _ break-in?” _

_ …? _

“Bullshit! Nothing even got stolen. It doesn’t count.”

“They’re  _ saying _ nothing got stolen. It’s your old man’s department, isn’t it Pablo? C’mon, deets?”

I heard the rustle of a bag further up, uncomfortable, as we reached the beam cutting through the center of the floor.

“We’re not supposed to discuss it outside of the department.”

“So it  _ is  _ bad! I knew it!”

I stepped into the field when the person behind me shoved, and spent a tense moment trying to keep my composure as the the honey-thick air pulled me up. 

_ Just get a fucking lift. Don’t need this fucking free-assed terror ride bullshit.  _

“I heard they caught one, sent them off to Varrock. Probably to get  _ beheaded.” _

“No, they didn’t.”

“They did! You’re gonna see it in the newspaper soon - ‘ZMI Wizard on Trial’!”

_ ZMI? _

“Shut up.”

The group stepped off on one of the middle floors, while I was left ascending. 

_ There’s people going both ways. Better than stairs - Gav’d be able to access it - but can’t imagine this shit’s friendly to anyone with motion sickness. Hells. _

_ Need to tell Jo about this fuckery. _

_ Just have to figure out how to get off it. _

 

* * *

 

I kicked my way to the edge of the beam and clawed for the solidarity of the attic floor, painfully aware of how much I embodied a drowning cat. It wasn’t the most dignified exit, but it worked.

An older wizard watched me from the stacks, and I shot him a glare as I stood and straightened my hat; he just shrugged to himself, and went back to reading. 

_ Yeah. Didn’t see shit. _

I turned, and was met with a staggering maze of crates and shelves that spiralled out from the central hole.

_ Oh. _


	3. Pict

_ Naquin. Nava. Nesbitt. Neumann. Nichols. Nieves. North. Novak. _

_... Nurn. _

I pulled the small box off its place on the shelf and squinted at the placard. 

_ Discharged. Contents locked under Archmage authority.  _

_ Sounds about right. _

I stuffed it into my bag, hoping the sharp bulge would be mistaken for a stack of books, then started the trek back to the center. 

The curator didn’t look up.  “Find what you were hunting?”

“No.”

“Shame.”

I nodded, held back a rude gesture, and plunged back into the beam. 

 

* * *

 

 

The descent was just as slow, but this time I was able to lean in and relax against the feeling. It was, _ maybe,  _ pleasant. Easy.

_ Could probably do some weird-ass exhibitionism in this thing. _

_ Bet at least a couple people have.  _

The job had been easy, too. Suspiciously so. I’d expected a learning center to have more safeguards, like Karamja’s did.

_ Hells, even the shop had more. _

_ Suppose just dressing like a member’s enough. _

_ And probably didn’t plan for people just climbing the damn thing like a tree. _

Wizards were starting to drift into the beam again, coming in droves as classes released, and I found myself near what sounded like the same crowd from before. 

“Who all’s game for hitting Draynor? I’ve got a friend who said she’d hook us me up with some good wine.”

“If it’s that same swill as last time, you can keep it.”

“More for the rest of us then, right?”

“Yeah!”

“I should really-”

“If you keep holing up in that damn dorm, Pablo, I’m going to feed  _ all _ your notebooks to Azacorax.”

“I’ve got my thesis to-”

“We’ve got a  _ year. _ One night won’t ruin your ratty paper, c’mon! Not like the runes are going anywhere. Or. Well, with the theft...”

“Will you  _ stop _ with the theft shit already?”

“But you’re coming.”

“Okay…”

 

* * *

 

 

We left the Tower in a small procession.

The promise of free wine was potent. 

I lingered back in the rear, and fell into step with the one they kept calling Pablo, who didn’t have the same pre-revelry excitement that the others were buzzing with. 

He was short, too - roughly my height - and had an angular jaw that looked strong enough to cut the sun. Short curly hair, patchy wisps of facial hair, and hard brown eyes; what had sounded snivelling earlier now seemed more like stability. 

I scratched my beard, made a soft noise low in my throat, and tried to catch his eye.

He didn’t look over, but I saw his lips press tight. 

 

* * *

 

 

We lingered in a smoky alleyway behind the marketplace, thick as thieves, crouched and sat and standing off as we passed around the heavy red bottle. I’d offered some cigarettes to the pot, and was immediately embraced as an ambiguously-laterclass student who was good at sucking fingers. 

Pablo sat next to me in the gathering, and over the course of the hour we’d inched closer, until I had a leg and half an ass curled across his lap; his cheek pressed against the side of my shoulder, and he didn’t feel unwelcoming. 

The mouth of the bottle popped free of his lips, well-stained, and he passed it to my ready hand. 

“Wha d’partment you’d say ‘gain?”

I took it, inhaled a long swig, passed it on to the girl next to us, and struggled against the happy fuzz to remember what I’d said before.  “‘S books.”

“Library?”

“Mm.”

“Haven’ seen you.”

“Could.”

“Could?”

“Mhm.”  I shifted, rubbing backwards and arching my back, twisting to whisper against his ear.  “Could.”

“Mm?”

I stood, and tugged for him to come. He got to his feet, heavy brow wrinkled, and let me lead him. His friends hooted after us. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh. We’re…?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never-”

“It’s not that hard.”

“Whattabout-”

“We’re wizards, it’s fine.”

His fingers grazed my hips, like he was mulling it over.  “... Is this a date?”

“It can be.”

 

* * *

 

The rows of wheat swayed around us, dirt clawed and pushed in deep furrows beneath, muddied with sweat and musk. 

His fingers trailed across my thighs, warm and light, as he caught his breath and massaged out his last dregs of tension. My hands had found muddied knots in my hair, and blood rushed through my head, thick and warm, still muddled with wine and euphoria. 

I felt Pablo shift, a slick, soft extraction as he sat back and sighed. We were quiet, just heavy of breath, and for a rare moment, the world felt still. 

“Pict?”

I grunted, a lazy acknowledgement.

“Is that my hat?”


	4. Agathocles

“Think he’s going to show back up?”

I looked over to Lysimachus, leaned against the wall behind the table, rolling a mug between his palms. 

“We’d have seen if he was caught, so yes.”

“Would we?”

“Yes.”

“You put too much stock in things you shouldn’t.”

“Like you?”

He frowned, then shrugged.  “Yes. Like me. Like that old man you’re running around with, too. Don’t see why you think he’s going to tell you anything.”

“I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Never more.”

The tavern bell clinked, and his jaw settled tight.

Pict made his way towards us, bag bulging with blue robes, a tower hat mashed down against his pulled-back hair. He looked exhausted, and absolutely pickled, as he pulled the lockbox free and dropped it onto the table. 

I picked it up and looked over the seal, tapping where it fastened.

_ One of us can brute force it.  _

I handed Ly the box, while he unclipped the coin purse from his armor and tossed it back across the table. The scrawny man took it, ran his fingers through the contents, then cut his eyes up between us, like he was interested in more.

“So, if-”

I stood before he could finish, gesturing for my brother to follow.  “Our business has been concluded.”

“Oh.”

“If we are ever in need your services again, you will be contacted. ”

“Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

“Can’t believe you paid him that much just for desk junk.”

Something crashed to the street behind us - a short body to cobble - followed by the raised voice of the barkeep. 

“They’re carved rocks.”

_ “Oh!” _

“Walk faster.”


End file.
